“Alright. You can call me Loretta. And he don’t answer to nothing but Grover.” She tossed a pillow at her husband. “Right, you old buzzard?”
Grover chuckled. Otis gulped lemonade while I let mine sit.
We chatted a bit, then Loretta noticed I hadn’t touched my lemonade. She asked if I had concerns about its origins. She assured me she had made it from bottled water and a powdered mix stored in a sealed container. Later we dined on black beans and rice which Loretta heated on the backyard grill. After dinner Grover yawned and announced he was going to bed. Loretta brought a candle into the family room and sat with Otis and myself. She asked, “Would you like some ripple?”
“Yes, huh!” Otis said.
I smiled. “Sure.”
I had never tasted ripple before and honestly wasn’t sure what it was. Loretta returned a minute later with a bottle and three old fashioned glasses. After she’d poured some for me I took a sip. It tasted like fruity wine. Not my thing, but I was polite about it.
Otis said, “That’ll put hair on your chest.”
“I hope not!” Loretta exclaimed.
I asked Loretta, “So what have you been doing since the attack? What do you do with no electricity, no water, no television, no lights, no radio, no phones, no air-conditioning?”
“My goodness,” she said. “Well…pretty close to nothing. We take it one day at a time. Grover sleeps a lot, and I like to read.”
I asked, “Have you heard anything as far as official news?”
“No. Well, there was a truck come by day before yesterday. It was like an Army truck or something. They were talking over a loud speaker and told everybody to stay in their homes. They say the water and lights would be turned on real soon.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, but that’s all. That’s all we know.”
We fell silent for a moment, then Loretta said, “My sister lives just a few miles from here. We haven’t been able to talk to her since it happened.”
I said, “That’s too bad.”
Loretta said, “We’re too old to walk over there, and she’s too old to come over here.”
Otis piped up, “Speak for yourself.”
“Okay. Grover and I are too old to walk over there. I forget Otis here is forever young.”
A while later Loretta suggested the sleeping arrangements. She offered to let me stay in the guestroom but I insisted Otis have it instead. After Loretta and Otis retired for the evening I stretched out on the couch and promptly fell to sleep.
* * *
After breakfast the next morning I thanked Loretta and Grover for their hospitality and told them I’d be on my way. I offered that if there was ever anything I could do for them, not to hesitate to ask.
“Well,” Loretta said. “There is one thing.”
I’d meant in the future, but I smiled and said, “Sure. Name it.”
“Well, you remember last night when I told you about my sister?”
“Yes.”
“I’m worried about her. We have no way of knowing if she’s alright or not. I know it’s a lot to ask, but—”
“Would you like me to go check on her?”
“Would you?” Loretta beamed. “That would be wonderful.” To Grover: “Can you tell him how to get there?”
“I can take him,” Otis said. “I ain’t doing nothing anyway.”
Loretta said, “I don’t know if you should be out there wandering around again, Otis.”
“It ain’t no big— G’oh boy!”
Loretta put her hands up. “Alright, alright! Go. Do it. Just don’t get upset.”
So it was settled, Otis and I would embark on another journey. Loretta thanked me profusely and topped off my bag with water and snacks. I promised to return with at least a report and possibly her sister. Otis and I made our way back out onto the main road. About halfway through our trek I suggested we stop and take a break. There was a bus stop and we sat on the bench. I pulled out a couple of waters and handed one to Otis.
Otis mopped his brow. “Hot out here.”
I nodded. “Sure is. So, you figure you’ll stay with your cousin now?”
“I guess so. I don’t have nowhere else to go. What about you? Where are you going?”
“I’m headed west, away from the city.” I took a long drink of water. “I’ll figure it out when I get there.”
Otis nodded and took another drink of water.
I thought I heard something, a sound I hadn’t heard in a while. I said, “Otis, do you hear that?”
“What?”
“That. It sounds like a car.”
We sat in silence for a moment. Then Otis said, “I thought you said last night, something about TNT and cars not working?”
“EMP,” I corrected. “Electromagnet Pulse. It’s a byproduct of a nuclear explosion that causes electronics to fail. Older cars like your cousin’s won’t start but newer cars – those made after the EMP attack – are shielded.”
“Yeah, that, like you was saying.”
“Well, it’s hit or miss. With a low altitude strike the EMP is not evenly distributed.” I stood. “That’s definitely a car or a truck, and it’s coming this way.”
Otis stood. “Whoop!”
I said, “Well, I’ll be damned.”
A white van approached and slowed to a halt. The driver leaned across to the passenger window and said, “You need a lift?”
My eyes narrowed. “Uh…you just out here offering people rides?”
He laughed. “No, I’m making a run into town to get some supplies, just thought I’d ask.” He got back behind the wheel. “Alright, well good luck to you then.”
Even seated, I could tell he was tall and solidly built. He was about 35 to 40 years old with a light complexion and a bald head. He looked like he could be a bank president. I held up a hand, “Wait a second.” I turned to Otis. “You okay with this?”
“G’oh boy!”
The driver gave an amused look. I explained, “He has Tourette’s syndrome.”
He said, “No problem. Hop in. I’m Roger by the way.”
Against my better judgment, I climbed into the van. I sat in the passenger seat and Otis sat in back. I said, “I’m Steen, and this is Otis.”
“Good to meet you.” He put the van in gear and we started off.
I said, “I think I’m just amazed to see a vehicle that’s actually working.”
“Yeah, there aren’t many,” Roger agreed. He looked at me. “Looks like you’re ready to go to war. You in the military or something?”
“No, I’m a survivalist. I rode the bomb out in a fallout shelter downtown. I’m trying to get as far away from that mess as possible.”
Roger said. “I was downtown when the bomb hit, too.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Good thing you made it out alive. Hey, you mentioned you were making a supply run. Is there a store open around here?”
“Yeah, Purcy’s. It’s about a mile up here on the right.”
We rode without talking for a while. I looked out my window at the passing scenery. Suddenly something hit me in the head and everything went black.
Chapter 10
When I regained consciousness I found myself in a hole suspended from a chain. My head was throbbing and my eyes were slow to focus. The air was thick with engine fumes and the smell of death. I heard a beeping sound and the rattling of chains. Where the hell was I and what the fuck was going on?
My eyes finally focused on something large above me, coming my way. I heard a loud metallic groan and suddenly I felt something cold, wet, and heavy slam into me.
I screamed, “Hey! Hey! What the fuck?! What the fuck is going on here?!”
I tried frantically to free myself but to no avail. The hole quickly filled with liquid up to my neck.
“Hey! What is going on?! Get me out of here!”
“Give it up, m
an,” I heard someone say.
I looked around and realized I was not alone. Other people were in the same predicament. I saw twenty or so heads sticking up above the ground evenly spaced about six feet apart. We were arranged in neat little rows all facing the same direction. What the hell was this? Some kind of sick joke? Planting people like petunias?
I was in a large building, a factory of sorts, with a high ceiling and industrial equipment all around. I heard the din of an engine in the background, a generator perhaps. Instinctively I started to move my hips and feet. If someone was trying to bury me in concrete, I wasn’t going to make it easy. I pushed again and again against the thick liquid with limited success.
Then I saw him. Roger from the van. He stepped out from behind a control panel and came toward me. My God, what had I been thinking? Accepting a ride from a stranger, in a white van, no less. Everyone knows that killers and perverts use white vans to kidnap their victims. Why had I let my guard down?
As Roger approached, I could see he looked different than before. Gone was the friendly demeanor, obviously just an act. Now his face was set hard as steel and his eyes were filled with hate. He was dressed in a white tee shirt and camouflage pants with black boots. He stopped right in front of me. In my position it was difficult for me to look up at him.
“You’re not supposed to be awake yet,” Roger growled.
“What the fuck is this?” I demanded. I looked around again and that’s when I saw Otis. He was planted right next to me. He was unconscious and he had a huge welt over one eye.
Roger said, “When your retarded friend here wakes up, we’ll get started.”
I said, “Get started? Get started what?”
“You’ll see.”
Groans from around the room. He turned on his heel and walked out the door.
I started working my feet again in the hardening cement. I turned to a nearby man and asked, “What is this?”
He wearily turned to me and said, “Dude crazy, that’s what.”
A woman’s voice behind me said, “He a racist. He hate black people.”
I looked around again and realized everyone else was black. I said, “What the hell am I doing here then?”
The man said, “I don’t know. Maybe he hate white people, too.”
That elicited a guffaw from one of the other captives.
The man continued, “But we ain’t never getting out of here, that’s fo sure.”
The woman agreed, “No way.”
“See them piles of concrete?” the man asked.
I looked around and saw a few mounds of concrete where people’s heads should have been.
“Them’s used to be people. That’s what he do. He kill everybody then he cover them up with concrete.”
I said, “That’s insane.”
“Damn straight.”
I thought for a minute. “Did any of you know each other before this happened?”
“No – I don’t know. I didn’t.”
A couple of the others agreed.
“So he just brings people in here at random?” I kept moving my feet. Either I was getting tired or the cement was hardening. My efforts were bearing little fruit at this point so I stopped.
Otis groaned. “G’oh— G’oh— G’oh boy!”
“Otis,” I hissed. “Over here.”
His eyes grew wide when he saw me. “What—?”
I said, “You’re going to be alright, just try to stay calm.”
Otis screamed, “Cock noodles! Nut sacks!”
“Otis!” I hissed. “Get a hold of yourself.”
“G’oh boy! I can’t move!”
“Me neither. None of us can.”
Otis looked around. “What the fuck—? G’oh boy! Whoop!”
Roger reappeared and the room got quiet. He closed the door behind him and said, “Well, what do we have here? Looks like the retard is awake.”
“Lick me!” Otis blurted. “G’oh boy! Whoop! Cocksucker! Whoop!” He shook violently and shouted, “Enjoy my vomit!”
Roger chuckled. “You’re not retarded. You’re fucking crazy.”
“Whoop! Whoop! Whoop! G’oh boy! Cunt lapper!”
Roger laughed harder. He shook his head and said, “Damn. We might have to keep you around a while.”
Otis growled and shook again as he tried desperately to control his disease. “Whoop!”
Roger stood at the front of the room and said in a sing-songy voice, “Guess what time it is boys and girls?”
Moans all around.
Then in a low, breathy voice he said, “That’s right. It’s negro time.”
“Jesus God No!” someone screamed.
“Anything but that! No! Not negro time!”
“Aaaaaahhhhh!!!”
The room filled with cries and screams as Roger laughed.
When it had quieted down, Roger approached Otis and myself and said, “I’ll explain for our newcomers here.”
More groans.
“I believe I mentioned to you that I was downtown when the bomb hit.”
I glared at him but said nothing.
He continued, “But I wasn’t sitting in a cozy little bomb shelter like you were. No, I was very much exposed. Out in the open.” A theatrical pause to let that sink in. “I took a lethal dose of radiation. That’s right, I’m dying. It’s only a matter of time before I simply drop dead. Something I’m sure everyone in this room is eagerly anticipating.”
Mumbled agreement.
Roger ignored them and went on. “I decided to do something useful with the rest of my life – however long that might be. I am righting wrongs and improving the world – one negro at a time.”
I stared at him, incredulous.
Roger began to roam around the room and he picked up volume and speed as he spoke. “Yes, I believe you negros are the cause of all the problems in America. I know the North Koreans nuked us, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about before that. Long before that.
“Let’s talk about slavery. Slavery was wrong, no doubt about it. But what happened after slavery ended had much more far-reaching consequences. Why did we let all those newly-freed slaves stay here in America? Your great-grandparents. What were we thinking? Did we really think that Africans were just going to blend in and assimilate? Assimilate into a society made up of Europeans? Really? Africans and Europeans? We’re about as different as night and day. Oil and water. I say, if there was money enough to ship all you negros over here, then there was money enough to ship you back. The biggest mistake our country ever made was letting you stay here after slavery ended.”
I looked around the room. I saw icy stares and faraway looks in people’s eyes. It was as if they were consciously willing themselves to be someplace else. Anyplace else.
Roger continued. “So, what do we have in America today? A few negros have managed to get an education and make something of themselves, but most of you will never fit into American society. You’re leaches who live off the government dole. Welfare, food stamps, housing assistance. All courtesy of the American taxpayer. White taxpayers, because we’re the only ones who work.
“The white man has achieved a level of success unparalleled by anyone else in human history. Let’s take a look. White men put a man on the moon. White men brought the world electricity, the light bulb, telephones, radio, television, locomotives, automobiles, airplanes, air-conditioning, modern medicine, computers, cellphones, the Internet— I could go on. The list is endless. Every good thing around you was invented by white men. A few bad things too, like the bomb that brought us all together today. But let’s stay focused.
“What has the black man given the world? Cue the crickets, please. That’s right, nothing. Zippo. Nada. Zero. Goose eggs. Come on somebody, shout out one great contribution that Africans have made to the world. Just one.”
He paced back and forth between the rows of heads. No one responded.
He waved a hand. “What I really wanted to talk about is the mess you’ve made of America. You have really fucked things up. It’s not enough that we have to support you. No, no. We have to live with you. We have to live in an America that you have ruined. Open any newspaper, watch any news program and tell me what you see? Story after story about negros. Negros committing murder, negros committing robberies, negros dealing drugs, and negros causing mayhem and violence everywhere you turn. If you’re not stealing something to buy more drugs, then you’re killing somebody just for the hell of it.
“Sure, it’s not as apparent as it used to be. There was a time when the news told it like it is. A black man was seen doing this. A black man did that. But now the truth is obscured by political correctness. Yes, that’s right. It’s racist if we tell the truth. It’s racist if we say a black man committed the crime. God forbid! Now unless you see a video or a picture you don’t really know what happened. Because they won’t tell you. You have to listen for clues, like when they mention dreadlocks or slip in an African name like Tyrone or Jamal or whatever in the fuck you people call yourselves. No, God forbid we actually tell the truth and just come out and say it. Can’t do that. But we don’t even have to. Everybody knows it. Everyone knows the truth. You negros are the ones committing all the crimes. You negros are the ones who have managed to turn America into the shithole that it is today.
“Let’s take a look at the facts. Blacks account for 13% of the U.S. population but go into any prison and what do you see? They’re almost all black. You negros are incarcerated at a rate six times higher than whites and more than twice that of Hispanics. More than anybody else.”
He looked around the room. “How does that make you feel? What do you have to say for yourselves?”
Silence. They had probably heard it all before and they knew any answer would be met with retribution.
“No one’s got an explanation? You probably think it’s because the system is biased against you. Right? You think you’re treated unfairly by the police. ‘The man is holding me down!’” Air quotes. “Isn’t that what you’ve been told? You tell yourselves that because you can’t handle the truth. The truth is, the police pay special attention to you because so many of you are criminals! It’s a well-deserved stereotype! You’ve earned it!
How to Survive a Nuclear War Page 5
